


Some Things Never Change

by celtic7irish



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 18:35:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3702093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celtic7irish/pseuds/celtic7irish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments in time between Steve and Bucky.  Sometimes, all you need is a reminder that somebody else is there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alba17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alba17/gifts).



> I'm afraid that there isn't much in the way of space mentioned, but I hope you like it anyhow.

The first time Steve wore one of Bucky’s shirts, he was curled up under the covers, shivering miserably and sniffling, his sinuses congested and his lungs rattling worrisomely. It took Bucky a while to notice, mostly because he was far more concerned with trying to coax the other boy into swallowing some pills and maybe having a couple sips of chicken broth. Blue eyes stared at him blearily, skin pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Outside, the stars gleamed bright and cold, indifferent to the suffering happening so far below them. Even the moon was absent. Steve moaned when Bucky tried to draw him out of the covers, so eventually, the older boy just lifted the covers and crawled in with him.

 

Immediately, Steve shifted closer, curling his body around Bucky’s and moaning in relief at the warmth of another body. Bucky suppressed his own shivers as ice cold hands snuck their way under the hem of his shirt, raising goosebumps.

 

“C’mon, punk,” he murmured. “You’ve gotta eat, or you won’t get better. Please, Stevie?” he asked, widening his eyes and frowning at the smaller boy in concern.

 

Steve sighed, obviously reluctant, but forced himself upright, his shirt slipping off his slender shoulders. He hitched it back up irritably, and this time, only one side fell down, and Steve ignored it, reaching for the mug that Bucky was holding out to him and taking a few careful sips before handing it back and huddling back down under the covers.

 

Bucky accepted the mug back automatically, his eyes still drawn to the skin that had been revealed when the too-large t-shirt had slipped. He recognized that shirt. In fact, he had worn it the last time he had spent the night here. He must’ve forgotten it when he left, which wasn’t really all that surprising. He was over here enough to watch over Steve when Sarah Rogers was working that he kept a few articles of clothing around, just in case she had to work overtime, or in case the weather took a turn for the worse and Bucky decided to stay the night.

 

Steve looked up at him, and Bucky shook himself out of his stupor. “That can’t be warm,” he decided, gesturing to the too-large shirt on Steve’s slender frame.

 

The blonde glanced down at himself with a small frown. “It smells like you, and it’s warmer than you’d think,” he muttered back, a light flush gracing his cheeks and the back of his neck. He was, quite frankly, adorable, and if Bucky ever said that out loud, Steve would probably crack him one.

 

Instead, he just shrugged. “Hey, man, suit yourself. Though I hope you washed it first,” he added, wrinkling his nose. Steve’s blush deepened, and Bucky swallowed. Oh.

 

To distract himself from thoughts of Steve finding his clothes and squirreling them away because they smelled like Bucky, he took the empty mug to the sink and spent a few seconds longer than necessary washing it and wiping down the counter. When he returned to Steve’s bedroom, the other boy was curled back up under the covers, his legs tucked up under the edge of the shirt as he dozed.

 

Silently, Bucky pulled the comforter up over the smaller boy, tucking it carefully around him before settling himself in the room’s single chair, keeping watch over his best friend. Steve’s breathing was steadier now, and Bucky found himself slowly drifting off to the sound of the other boy’s quiet exhales.

 

Sara found them that way later, Steve curled up and asleep in Bucky’s shirt, the older boy slumped over with his head resting on the bed next to Steve, their hands tangled together. With a soft smile, she left them alone, figuring that Bucky would wake up when his body got too stiff to be comfortable.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky’s heart ached as he watched the miserable form curled up in the large armchair in the sitting room, despondent blue eyes staring lifelessly at the far wall, where several pictures hung, mostly of Steve and his mother, though there were a few of Steve and Bucky as well, grinning out into the room. It seemed cruel now, to watch those smiling, light-hearted children laugh out at them from the simple frames. Even the night sky was filled with dark storm clouds, suitable to the mood of the people inside the small apartment in Brooklyn.

 

“Stevie,” he called quietly, hoping the nickname would snap the other boy out of it. Steve didn’t move, not even to look at him. Instead, his arms simply tightened where they were wrapped around his knees, his mouth thinning into a hard, desperate line.

 

Determined, Bucky tried again. “Steve, kid, come on,” he pleaded. “You’ll make yourself sick like this. At least drink something, would ya? For me?” That earned him a brief glance, but then Steve went back to staring at the pictures.

 

Bucky growled. “I knew I should’ve made you come live with us,” he huffed, frustrated and uncertain. Steve looked so frail, his skin pale and stretched tight over his already too thin frame, dark bruises like coal under his eyes, a faint tremor in his hands. As far as Bucky knew, the younger boy wasn’t eating, and wasn’t sleeping except for the rare occasion when exhaustion won out and he lost consciousness.

 

“I’m fine, Buck,” Steve replied at last, his voice hoarse from disuse. They both knew it wasn’t true, and Bucky debated for a moment before grimacing and forging ahead. He had to snap Steve out of this depression, and if that meant he had to hit below the belt, then so be it.

 

“I’m pretty sure your mom wouldn’t agree with your definition of ‘fine’,” he mused. Steve’s reaction was instantaneous, and Bucky quickly found himself pressed against the wall by a pissed off blonde, Steve’s hands fisted into his shirt as he shoved against the larger boy.

 

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed, his breath hitching wetly. The two boys stared at each other for a long moment, and Steve eventually released his grip on Bucky’s shirt, his shoulders slumping as he leaned his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder, allowing himself to be weak for just a moment.

 

“Come on, punk,” Bucky murmured, wrapping one arm around the slender boy’s shoulders and steering them out of the room and towards the kitchen. Steve hesitated, and Bucky bit his lip before turning again, this time heading for Steve’s bedroom. This time, the blonde went willingly, allowing himself to be guided like a lost child. Which, Bucky supposed, he sort of was. Despite his years, Steve was still young; they both were, even though neither one was willing to admit as much.

 

Once he got Steve settled into bed – they’d work on a shower later – Bucky stood up and looked around, not sure what he was searching for. He wanted to get Steve some food, but a part of him was reluctant to let the other boy out of his sight without knowing that he’d still be there when he returned, despite the fact that he’d just be in the kitchen for a few minutes.

 

Finally, he found something that he thought might help, if he was lucky. Striding over to the corner, Bucky leaned down and scooped up an old nightshirt of his – the one that Steve had worn when he’d been sick, actually – and brought it up to his nose, checking that it was still relatively clean before bringing it over to Steve and dropping it on the other boy’s head.

 

A pale hand lifted and pulled the shirt down as Steve pushed himself upright, staring down at the shirt that was now puddled in his lap. He looked up at Bucky in confusion, a small furrow digging its way across his brow. “Bucky?” he wondered.

 

The brunette shook his head. “I’m going to fix you some soup or somethin’, okay?” he said. “Just stay here ‘til I get back.” Reaching out, he ruffled Steve’s hair playfully, secretly delighted when the smaller boy swatted at his hand in mock-annoyance. Satisfied that Steve would stay put for a few minutes, Bucky left the room, though he was careful to leave the door open so that Steve could hear him, just in case. He didn’t want the younger boy to think that Bucky was trying to escape an uncomfortable situation or anything, even if it was a little bit true.

 

Bucky busied himself fixing a couple of sandwiches, hoping that he could entice Steve to eat at least one if he ate as well. He filled two glasses with water from the tap, making a mental note to pick up some groceries as soon as possible.

 

Armed with food and drink, Bucky carefully made his way back to the bedroom. “Hey, Steve, what do you way we go out tomorrow?” he asked as he stepped into the darkened room.

 

His words were met with silence, and Bucky sighed as he set his burdens on the bedside table. Looking down at Steve, he smiled affectionately, one hand reaching out to brush against his friend’s cheek before sliding up to check his temperature. Much to his relief, Steve didn’t seem to be running a fever. While Bucky had been preparing food, the other boy had apparently found the energy to change, and was now wearing Bucky’s well-worn sleepshirt.

 

Glancing at the table next to the bed, Bucky decided that the food probably wouldn’t go bad if it was left out for a little bit. Walking around to the far side of the bed, Bucky lifted the covers and crawled in, settling on his side close to Steve. As if sensing his presence, the other boy turned towards him, curling up so they were facing each other. With a quiet snuffle, he settled down again. Strain was still evident, but at least he was resting, and that could only do him good.

 

In the morning, Bucky would stop by his place long enough to let his mother know that he’d be staying with Steve for a while, at least until the other boy found his footing again. He didn’t imagine it would take long. For all that Steve seemed small and weak, he was the bravest, dumbest, most stubborn punk Bucky had ever met.

 

Then again, Bucky supposed, his hand reaching out to wrap around Steve’s, that’s what he loved the most about the other boy.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey, Steve! Have you seen my - ?” Bucky came to an abrupt halt, his words falling silent as Steve peered into the kitchen.

 

“Yeah, Buck?” he asked, blinking expectantly at the older boy. He was bare from the waist up, his hair still damp and dripping water into his eyes and down his shoulders and chest from a quick shower. Around his neck were Bucky’s military dog tags, the silver dull against pale flesh.

 

“Bucky?” Steve asked again, his brow furrowing in concerns. “Everything okay?”

 

Bucky swallowed, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He was gratified to see Steve’s gaze dart to his mouth, a blush highlighting sharp cheekbones as blue eyes darkened. “Ah, yeah,” he managed to squeak out. Clearing his throat with a wince, he tried again. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just wasn’t expectin’ you to be wearing my tags,” he blurted out, his own face heating up in embarrassment. At the same time, a thrill went through him, equal parts lust and possessiveness. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d wanted – _needed_ – to see his tags on his best friend until that moment.

 

Steve glanced down in surprise, as if he’d forgotten that he was wandering about the apartment half-dressed and wearing Bucky’s tags. “Oh,” he said softly. “They were on the bathroom counter, and I didn’t want them to get lost or fall to the floor, so I put them on. I can take them off,” he said, already reaching for the chain.

 

“No!” Bucky burst out, surprising both of them. Steve looked up at him, confused and Bucky tried again. “No, it’s fine,” he said, his tone gentling. “I’ll get them before I ship out in the morning.”

 

Steve’s expression closed off at the reminder that Bucky would be heading off to war with the 107th in the morning, while he’d be left behind. Ever since Steve had ditched him and the girls – Bucky didn’t even remember their names now – at the fair to sign up for enlistment, he’d been closed off and secretive. He wouldn’t tell Bucky what had happened, and that worried the other boy. Surely if he’d been cleared for active duty, he would’ve told Bucky, right?

 

But Steve had made no indication that anything was different, and as Bucky’s departure date grew closer, the tension between them only got higher, and Bucky was at a complete loss. He didn’t want to leave Steve here to fend for himself, but Steve was more than capable of taking care of himself, if he chose to. And really, what was he supposed to do? Live with the other boy forever in domestic bliss, two lonely bachelors sharing a flat together in a tiny corner of Brooklyn?

 

His country needed him – needed everybody they could get hold of – and Bucky was willing and eager to answer it. He only hoped that Steve found a way to serve his country that would make him happy in the process.

 

Steve had moved to stand in front of him while Bucky had been distracted with his own thoughts, and he gazed up at Bucky now, an impish grin curling his lips as slender fingers played with the tags hanging around his neck. “You sure about that, Buck?” he teased wickedly. “What if you missed your chance? What if I don’t let you have them back?”

 

Bucky narrowed his eyes at the other boy. “Don’t even think it, ya damn punk!” he mock-snarled.

 

Steve just laughed. “Too late, jerk!” he retorted, turning and sprinting out of the room, his feet skidding on the tile as he made a sharp turn, heading further into the apartment. Bucky grinned; Steve wasn’t planning on going anywhere, and whatever the next day would bring, they’d deal with it then.

 

With a cheerful whoop, Bucky gave chase.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve lay back on his cot and stared up at the ceiling of their tent, his arms behind his head as he waited patiently while Bucky stared at him, trying to reconcile the strong, well-built soldier he saw now with the skinny punk from Brooklyn that was far too reckless for his own good. That much, at least, hadn’t changed.

 

A part of Bucky was still convinced that he was back in that Hydra prison, chained down on a cold metal table, delirious and half out of his mind. But the larger part of him knew that this was real. He had escaped – they all had. Well, most of them, he amended, well aware that men had lost their lives in the escape attempt. But Bucky remembered the adrenalin rush, the flight, Red Skull, Steve’s graceful leap across a space that nobody should have been able to jump across.

 

No, he was sure that the escape had been real. The only thing that didn’t feel real was Steve himself. Boot camp would not have accounted for such a massive change. Besides, given the other man’s personal medical history, he shouldn’t have even qualified to set foot in an army camp, much less be allowed to go traipsing across half of Europe. Something had been done to him. The fact that Steve wasn’t talking had Bucky very close to panicking.

 

“Buck?” Steve asked, turning his head to face him, and the concerned expression was so familiar that it made Bucky ache somewhere in his chest. “Are you okay?” He sat up, muscles moving easily under the too-tight undershirt. “Is anything hurting?” His hands hovered just in front of Bucky, as if he wanted to touch him, but wasn’t sure of his welcome.

 

Bucky shook his head abruptly. Regardless of what Steve looked like now, he was still the same man inside. Sweet and concerned and a bit naïve, but he was still Bucky’s best friend. He smiled suddenly, the tension draining from him as he accepted that this, right here in front of him, was real. Whatever had happened to Steve, he was still Steve.

 

“Come here, punk,” he growled playfully, reaching out and grabbing fistfuls of Steve’s shirt, yanking the other man towards him. Steve stumbled forward before toppling over with a muffled yelp of surprise, landing solidly on top of Bucky, who grunted as the wind was knocked out of him. The clean, rich scent of the other man filled his nose, and Bucky released him only reluctantly.

 

Steve snickered as he rolled off of Bucky to lie beside him. “Jerk,” he muttered affectionately, staying close, so that the two of them were pressed together from shoulder to hip, their legs hanging off the side of the cot. “I’m a lot heavier than I used to be, you know.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “No shit,” he retorted. Steve just grinned, his happiness contagious. A laugh rumbled out of Bucky as he turned onto his side, plucking idly at Steve’s shirt. “You gonna tell me what happened?” he asked.

 

The smile fell from Steve’s face, something uncomfortably like sorrow taking its place. “I…yeah, Buck. But not right now, okay?” he requested softly.

 

The temptation to push the other man was like an invisible collar around Bucky’s neck, and he bit it back. He nodded. “Yeah, yeah, that’s fine. Just…when you’re ready, okay?”

 

Steve nodded in agreement, smiling over at him gratefully. Bucky dropped back down to the cot with a sigh. “Tired,” he mumbled.

 

Steve sat up, glancing towards the front of their tent. It was quiet outside, the only sounds being the occasional rumble of quiet conversation or the easy stroll of the perimeter guards as they went about patrolling the camp. It was a warm, clear night, the full moon casting the entire camp in its light. “Yeah, I guess it’s kind of late, huh?” he mused. Blue eyes turned to regard the dark-haired soldier. “You gonna be okay?” he asked.

 

Normally, Bucky would be offended at the implication that he couldn’t handle sleeping by himself, but this was Steve. He had asked the other man the same thing after his mother had died, or after he’d gotten himself beat up in a back alley somewhere. Steve had never taken offense; it was just a result of them having been so close growing up. And, if he was being honest with himself, he was still feeling vulnerable from his time in Hydra’s base, under the non-existent mercy of Arnim Zola. He had spent the first few nights after his return to the American camp under observation in the hospital ward, but the need for space had seen him moved out more quickly than the doctors might’ve liked. This was his first night back in the main camp, without drugs to help him sleep, and he couldn’t state with any honesty that he wouldn’t wake up half the camp with his nightmares.

 

Steve must’ve recognized his hesitation for what it was, because his next question was, “What do you need, Bucky? Just tell me, I’ll get it, whatever it is.”

 

But Bucky was already shaking his head. He didn’t know what he needed. The only thing he was sure of was that he needed Steve to stay nearby, so that Bucky would have tangible proof that they were both safe. Steve had already mentioned putting together a specialized task force, and Bucky was determined to be a part of it; he would not be separated from Steve again, not when they were finally together again. Regardless of Steve’s super-soldier status, he could still be killed, and Bucky had every intention of watching the other man’s back. It wouldn’t be much different than when he’d stopped bullies from back home, except these guys had guns.

 

“I just…need to know this is real,” he admitted with a sigh when he realized that Steve was actually expecting an answer from him. “This...you...things like that don’t just _happen_ for no reason, and you won’t tell me what’s going on with you!” He could hear the frustration in his own voice, and knew that Steve could hear it, as well.

 

Steve frowned. “Look, I meant it. I can’t tell you right now, but I will, okay? I promise. When all of this,” he said, waving his hand to indicate the camp, the soldiers, the war, “is over, I’ll tell you everything. But for now, you just need to know that this was something I chose, Buck. They gave me a choice, and I took it. I couldn’t stay behind and do nothing, not when our country needs us.” There was a small hiccup of hesitation in that last part, and Bucky heard what hadn’t been said. _Not when you’re over here_.

 

The sniper closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted, slumping back onto his cot. He just wanted to go to sleep and forget that there was a war out there, forget the sharp sting of needles and the burning of experimental compounds running through his veins, forget the days and nights that blurred together into on large hallucination. Steve had told him that when he’d found him, Bucky was stating his rank and number, but he was afraid that he may have given much more than that away in his half-crazed ramblings. He shuddered to think of what information Hydra may have gained from him.

 

There was a quiet rustle, and then something soft dropped over his head. The scent of Steve – the scent he remembered from nights spent together back in Brooklyn – surrounded him, and Bucky sat up. The shirt that Steve had dropped on him slid down into his lap, and he frowned. “Stevie?” he asked, glancing at the other man.

 

The super soldier blushed, but met his curious gaze and spoke evenly. “When I was really sick, or scared that I might not make it, especially after mom died, I’d wear one of your shirts,” he confessed. “It reminded me that there was somebody waiting for me to get better, that I had to get better. Even when I was delirious with fever, it would make me feel safe.” His eyes lowered. “I know that I don’t look like me anymore, but I thought that maybe, that would help.”

 

He was blushing now, his cheeks burning crimson, and Bucky’s grip tightened on the shirt beneath his fingers. Not bothering to strip, he just pulled the shirt on over his own clothes, noting ruefully that even with the extra layer, it was still a bit large on him. Ignoring Steve’s eyes on him – he’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t so touched – he lay down, tilting his head down and burying himself in Steve’s scent, his eyes closing gratefully.

 

A few minutes later, he heard Steve climb onto his own cot and settle down. “Good night, Buck,” the other man called softly.

 

Bucky relaxed, already falling asleep. “’Night, punk,” he managed, just before exhaustion overtook him.

 

He slept the night through.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve was picking over the equipment again, frowning down at it as he tested everything for any weak spots. Bucky was slouched back on a nearby log, watching him, wrapped warmly in Steve’s winter jacket, his eyes peering above the collar as he watched the blonde work in the flickering firelight, the minimal heat doing little to combat the winter chill.

 

“I’m not sure anything’s meant to hold up to a super-soldier’s strength, there, Hercules,” he smirked. Steve just shot an irritated frown in his direction, and he huffed back at the other man, scrunching further down in his seat like a petulant child. “How come you’re just fine without a coat or anything?” he grumbled to himself, shivering.

 

Steve must’ve heard him, because he answered the question, even though Bucky hadn’t expected – or wanted – one. “I run hot all the time now,” he said, slowly starting to wind the zip line back up. He had apparently decided that it would do its job well enough. After all, the dangerous part was going to be hitting their target without getting themselves flattened or killed in the process. Whose bright idea was it to zip-line down onto a moving train, anyhow? Oh, that’s right…it had been Bucky’s. What had he been thinking?

 

Bucky smirked. “I’ve noticed,” he leered. Steve blushed, and the sergeant grinned. “I swear they could freeze you in an iceberg and you’d probably melt the damn thing.” There was laughter in his voice, and Steve grinned at him ruefully.

 

“Maybe,” he agreed. “Not that I’m particularly eager to test it.” His eyes were sparkling with shared humor now, and Bucky shifted closer to the fire to their right. Steve followed him, carrying their gear packs and setting them down inside their tent before joining his friend near the campfire. It was starting to truly get dark now, but the camp was still buzzing with energy. Laughter could be heard from the nearby mess tent, the Howling Commandos no doubt regaling the local troops with outlandish stories of their exploits. Bucky and Steve would join them shortly; Steve had wanted to go over their gear one more time. _You can never be too careful, Buck. I won’t risk you on faulty equipment._

Steve settled by Bucky’s side with a quiet sigh. “We should probably go join the others,” he said reluctantly, but he made no move to get up, seemingly content to sit there in the dark and stare at the fire in front of them.

 

Carefully, Bucky allowed himself to lean to the right just a little bit, his arm pressing against Steve from shoulder to elbow. The other man returned the light pressure, and Bucky took comfort in the fact that even if things went to hell in the morning, the two of them had this, at least. He wondered if it would ever progress beyond friendship. He couldn’t honestly say that the thought had never occurred to him before, but he had never acted on it. First, Steve had been too sick, and Bucky had firmly established himself as a ladies man. And now, there was a war going on, and the army wasn’t exactly forgiving of homosexuals. Or bisexuals. The last thing either of them needed was to find themselves court-martialed for tearing down the morale of their group. The army relied too heavily on the Howling Commandos for either of them to risk it. And so neither of them ever spoke of the tension that sat between them. Instead, they pretended it didn’t exist. They were best friends, just like they’d always been.

 

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Steve asked, startling Bucky out of his thoughts. The blonde was grinning impishly, looking impossibly younger in the flickering firelight, warm and comfortable and sturdy.

 

Bucky grinned, punching the other man on the shoulder. “Just deciding what I want to do first when we get back home,” he replied lightly, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “Booze, shower, girls, sleep. Not necessarily in that order,” he added.

 

Steve tipped his head back and laughed. Nearby, the cacophony of the Howling Commandos overlapped Steve’s laughter, and Bucky turned back to the fire with a smile, burrowing down further into the jacket around his shoulders.

 

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for tonight, at least, he had this.

 

He wouldn’t forget it.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve stared grimly at the dark expanse of the ocean below him, his hands firm on the controls. Behind him, Hydra’s cube hummed and vibrated with lethal intent. There was no way that Steve could let the damn thing touch land. He had only option, and he was going to take it. Absently, his hand reached up to finger the dog tags around his neck – the only thing he had left of James Buchanan Barnes.

 

“There’s not gonna be a safe landing,” he told Peggy over the coms, hating that he was doing this to her, that he was hurting her. But he needed somebody to know what had happened to him, needed to know that he mattered, even if only to one person. “But I can try and force it down.” It wouldn’t be hard. The plane was already unbalanced.

 

Peggy’s voice answered him, strained as she tried to talk some sense into him. “I’ll-I’ll get Howard on the line. He’ll know what to do.” She was grasping at straws now, and they both knew it.

 

Steve smiled, shaking his head even though he knew Peggy couldn’t see him right now. Ahead of him, the New York shoreline rose up out of the ocean. “There’s not enough time,” he told her, keeping his tone even. “This thing’s moving too fast and it’s heading for New York. I gotta put her in the water.” Already his hands were pushing at the controls, angling the plane back around, heading for a place where nobody would get hurt when he went down. He just hoped it would be quick.

 

He set the watch with Peggy’s picture on it on the dash, his hand tangling in the chains around his neck once more. He couldn’t bear to let them go, not with the loss so fresh in his mind. Bucky had died because of him; he would not allow the same to become of Peggy, or Howard, or any of the Howling Commandos. He would do this because it was necessary. And because a tiny part of him knew the truth, knew that he couldn’t live without Bucky by his side.

 

Peggy was pleading now, frantic. “Please don’t do this. W-we have time. We can work it out.” The tears were obvious in her voice, even over the static of the coms.

 

The soldier swallowed hard, fighting against the part of him that was screaming that he really didn’t want to die, that maybe he could find a way to turn the plane around, get her somewhere else before landing. But there was no time left, and they both knew it, even if Peggy wouldn’t admit it just yet. “Right now I’m in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer, a lot of people are gonna die.” His lips tightened into a grim line before he said the words that would make her let him go. “Peggy, this is my choice.” His choice to choose to follow Bucky, rather than Peggy. He had contributed all that he could to the war effort. It was over now.

 

Still, there was a part of him that couldn’t just leave things like that, a piece that needed to give her something to hold onto, even as they both knew that he wasn’t likely to survive. “Peggy…” he trailed off, suddenly unsure. Maybe this would hurt more than it would help. Maybe he would have been better off just dropping into the ocean without a word. This was agonizing, and he couldn’t even imagine what Peggy was going through on the other end of the line. At least for him, it would be over soon. He hoped.

 

“I’m here,” Peggy murmured, her tone evening out again, giving him something to cling to. He should have known better than to worry about her. She was strong, Peggy. She’d make it through this, would grieve and get over him. Peggy would move on with her life, the same as Howard and his mates in the Howling Commandos.

 

He smiled helplessly. “I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance,” he said, grasping at some semblance of normality, even as the ocean rose huge and overwhelming in the viewport.

 

“All right,” Peggy agreed easily. “A week next Saturday. At the Stork Club.”

 

Steve had no idea where that was, but it didn’t matter. “You’ve got it.”

 

“Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late,” Peggy ordered, her tone brooking no argument, even as Steve could still hear the sorrow weighing down her words. “Understood?”

 

Steve nodded, then caught himself, aware that Peggy couldn’t see him. “You know, I still don’t know how to dance.” And how sad was it that not knowing how to dance should bring him comfort now? He was still that awkward kid that no dame looked at twice, much less went dancing with. That had always been Bucky. It seemed somehow fitting that even now, even as a super soldier, he wouldn’t get to dance with a dame as pretty as Peggy.

 

“I’ll show you how,” Peggy promised him. “Just be there.”

 

They both knew he wouldn’t be, but Steve played along, even as he reached his intended coordinates and pointed the plane down towards the icy surface of the Arctic. Was freezing a painful way to die? He honestly didn’t know, and hoped he wouldn’t have to find out. Maybe the impact would knock him out. “We’ll have the band play something slow,” he murmured, aware that Peggy would expect him to respond for as long as he was able. Below him, the ocean rose, huge and overwhelming, and Steve swallowed. “I’d hate to step on your…” and that was as far as he got before the plane hit the water.

 

He didn’t even have time to regret that he’d never hear Peggy’s final words.

 

_I’m coming, Buck._


	7. Chapter 7

The Winter Soldier looked warily around the apartment, picking out signs of residency. This was where Captain Rogers lived. Or, at least, where he had lived for a while. The former Hydra agent had no idea where the other man would go once he left the hospital. Perhaps he would follow what remained of SHIELD. Or maybe he’d take genius billionaire Tony Stark up on his offer to house the Avengers in New York. It would be beyond foolish for Rogers to return to the small apartment in DC, knowing that it was compromised.

 

After assuring himself that nobody else was on the premises, the Winter Soldier stepped further into the apartment, his eyes searching out exits and furniture that he could use for cover if he was discovered here. He suspected that even if Rogers found him here, the other man wouldn't attack, but he couldn't be certain that one of the Captain's friends wouldn't show up instead, perhaps to collect Rogers' things.

 

Avoiding the wall through which he had shot the Primary Target, the Soldier ran his flesh hand across the back of the couch and along the wall brushing carefully against the shade of a lamp. Despite knowing that the Captain lived here, the apartment didn't stir up any memories, didn't feel the least bit familiar to him. Perhaps that was because there was nothing personal here. The furniture was made of strong, solid wood, functional. There were no pictures decorating the walls or shelves, no knickknacks lying about, not even an open book or discarded magazine. If he didn't know better, the Winter Soldier would have thought that nobody lived there.

 

Carefully, the assassin made his way to the bedroom. Opening the door on silent hinges, he paused, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darker shadows. No streetlights penetrated this part of the building, and the cloud cover blocked out light from the night sky. After a few seconds, he was able to make out the deeper blackness of the furniture, and he stepped into the room. He didn't know what he was looking for, but if the displays at the museum had been correct, then he had been close to Rogers. Surely there would be something here that would serve as proof that he really was the man that history mentioned. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, the only member of the Howling Commandos to give his life in the war.

 

In a way, that was true. Regardless of what history might have to say, the man known as Bucky, as James, no longer existed. There was only the Winter Soldier, and whoever he could make of himself now. He just wasn't sure who he wanted to be. Somehow, though, he had the feeling that whoever he was, whoever he might become, it was inextricably tied up in the Captain.

 

This room was less spartan, leading the Soldier to intuit that Rogers came here mostly to eat and sleep, but spent most of his time outside the apartment , most likely at SHIELD headquarters. The Winter Soldier found himself wondering idly if Rogers had any sort of a social life. Perhaps with that redheaded female, or the dark-skinned man with the mechanical wings?

 

Without really paying attention, the Soldier soon found himself standing in front of a closet, his hands on the doorknobs. He hesitated for a long moment, but his instincts were telling him that if he was to find anything that might help him remember more than faint memories of blue eyes and a fragile smile, he needed to look. Not allowing himself to think about it, he yanked the doors opening, wincing as they squealed on their hinges.

 

After pausing for several minutes to make sure that the noise hadn't drawn any attention from any neighbors, the Winter Soldier took in the contents of the closet. Mostly jeans and t-shirts, soft and well-worn. There were several plaid flannels as well, and the Soldier ran his hand along a few of them, rubbing his fingers together afterwards, as if he could still feel the fabric in his hands.

 

The clothes were all too modern, though, nothing that struck the Soldier with any sense of familiarity. But the scent was another matter altogether. It was obvious that the clothes had been washed and were well-cared for, and they carried an underlying scent that he remembered from the falling SHIELD Helicarrier, under the scents of blood and sweat and burning metal. It was a strong, clean scent, and underneath were connotations of time spent in storage.

 

The Winter Soldier frowned, reaching further into the closet until he touched the back of it. His metal hand nudged something that shifted, and he grabbed it before it could topple over. Carefully, he pulled out the box that had been sitting at the back of the closet, holding it up as he examined it curiously.

 

It was a simple box, made of cedar and with a small latch holding it shut. There was no lock, and the assassin cradled it carefully in his hands. Holding it in his metal hand, he reached for the lid to open it and see what it contained, but the sound of footsteps right outside the door snapped his attention towards the main room. A moment later, there was the sound of a key in the lock, and a pair of voices.

 

“Hey, man, you sure this is a good idea?” The Winter Soldier recognized that voice; it was the man with the wings that he had torn off, an ally of the Captain’s. “This place isn’t exactly safe, and there can’t be anything that important, can there?”

 

Rogers’ voice answered as the door opened, and the Soldier slipped into the deeper shadows in the corner nearest to the door. If Rogers entered the room and turned on the light, the Winter Soldier would have the element of surprise. Besides, the other man was probably still injured, even if he healed quickly. The assassin _had_ been trying his hardest to kill him, after all.

 

“I’ll be fine, Sam. I just need to grab a few things, okay? Just…wait here. I’ll only be a minute.” Wilson made a disapproving noise, but Rogers cut him off. “Please?” he asked politely. The other man subsided with a muted grumble, but only one set of footsteps walked further into the apartment, so the Soldier supposed that Rogers had gotten his way after all.

 

He glanced down at a quiet creaking sound, realizing that he was gripping the box tightly enough to crack it with his metal hand. Carefully, he loosened his hold, pulling the box closer to his chest and transferring it to his flesh hand before reaching for a knife with his left.

 

The Captain’s steps had paused. A moment later, they continued, approaching the bedroom. The Soldier braced himself for attack. He wasn’t expecting Rogers to burst into the room and quickly close the door shut behind him, locking it with a final click as he looked around the dark room, searching for the intruder.

 

The Winter Soldier straightened up, scowling. “Do you want to die?” he growled, his voice hoarse from disuse.

 

Rogers’ head swung around to look in his direction, and the super soldier relaxed. “Bucky?” he asked. “That you?”

 

“I’m not him,” the Soldier bit out. He wasn’t. Whoever he might have been once, he wasn’t that person anymore. Rogers frowned, but didn’t argue, his gaze sharpening as his vision adjusted to the darkened room, drinking him in. He froze when he saw the box that the assassin was still clutching.

 

“You remember that?” he asked quietly, nodding at the box.

 

The Winter Soldier frowned down at it. Carefully, he slipped his knife back into its sheath, assured that the other man wasn’t going to try anything. He had even moved further away from the door, leaving the assassin a clear exit. Besides, it was far more likely that the Captain wouldn’t retaliate with lethal force if the Soldier attacked him again instead. “No,” he replied at last, reluctantly.

 

Rogers sighed, his expression shuttering briefly in sorrow before tightening in determination. “Open it,” he urged. “It’s nothing dangerous, and they’re yours, anyhow.” There was a sharp bite of strain in his tone, as if those words had cost him, and the Winter Soldier opened the box without taking his eyes off of the other man, who just stared right back at him.

 

When no traps or alarms went off, and nothing fell out of the box, the Winter Soldier glanced down briefly before reaching in and pulling out the set of military ID tags. His vision wasn’t quite good enough to read them in the dark, but he didn’t need to read them to know what they said.

 

BARNES, JAMES B.

272-72-9986

A POSITIVE

CATHOLIC

 

The second one would likely have his unit on it from the war. The museum had said that Sergeant Barnes was a member of the 107th infantry, and part of a team known as the Howling Commandos. The name had appealed to the Winter Soldier, and he’d found himself hoping that he really was the man that Rogers thought he was, even if just a little.

 

“I am this man?” he asked, holding up the tags that were clutched in his fist.

 

The Captain nodded, giving him a small smile. “Yeah, you are,” he agreed. The Winter Soldier nodded, dropping the box to the floor and clutching the chain tighter. He stood uncertainly for a moment, just staring at the blonde man who had once been his best friend, if the stories he had read were true.

 

Blue eyes flicked towards the door, and Rogers sighed. “Look, I have to go, or else Sam is going to come barging in here, and I don’t think either of us want that.” The Soldier shrugged; he’d just kill the man if he tried to interfere. Rogers frowned. “What are you going to do, Bucky?” he asked.

 

The Winter Soldier didn’t bother to correct him this time – it would be irrelevant in the near future, and if it brought Rogers some comfort to call him by that name, then so be it. “I’m leaving,” he stated matter-of-factly, as if daring the other man to try and stop him or talk him out of it.

 

“I figured you would,” Steve murmured. Crouching down, he reached into the closet and snagged something, dragging out a sturdy, worn duffle bag. “I won’t try and stop you,” he said somberly, “but can you promise that when you’re ready to come home, you’ll let me know?”

 

The Winter Soldier thought that over. He wasn’t sure where home was anymore, or if he’d ever be ready to return to it. But Rogers hadn’t put a time limit on him, and the Soldier didn’t see how it could hurt to agree, so he gave a curt nod. The Captain smiled at him.

 

“Great,” he replied. Then he nodded towards the box at the assassin’s feet. “Are you gonna - ?” he trailed off. The Winter Soldier used his foot to slide it over, watching as the Captain crouched to pick it up. “Thanks,” he murmured. He received no reply.

 

“Yo, how long does it take to pack, man?” Wilson’s voice called through the apartment, startling both men.

 

“I’m coming!” Rogers called back, keeping his gaze on the Winter Soldier. “Look, I gotta go, but take this, okay?” he said, tossing something towards him. The assassin caught it automatically, looking down at the phone. “It’s a burner phone. It can’t be tracked, I checked with Tony. Just…use it to call when you’re ready, or if you’re in trouble, and I’ll come, okay? And don’t…don’t go back to Hydra. Please.”

 

The Winter Soldier nodded; that was an easy promise to make. He wanted nothing to do with his former handlers, and with every new memory that resurfaced, with every decision he made without resulting pain, he pulled further away from Hydra and his handlers. He’d never be the same man that he had seen in the photos and video at the museum, but perhaps he could be more than just The Asset as well.

 

“I’ll be seeing you,” the blonde murmured. With quick movements, as if he was afraid that he’d change his mind if he waited any longer, Rogers had the door open and was striding across the apartment, greeting the man who had come with him to watch his back. It was such a shame that he didn’t think to also watch his front.

 

When the door closed behind them, the Winter Soldier waited until the footsteps faded before looking down at the items he still held. The phone went into one of his many pockets – he’d check it for tracking devices later – and the tags went around his neck and under his shirt, out of sight. Maybe one day, they’d actually mean something to him.

 

He went to leave as well, but paused, his eyes drifting over to the open closet door. Then, without giving himself time to think, he strode over to it and pulled down one of the button-up flannels, swinging it over his shoulders and feeling the soft material settle over him.

 

Taking a deep breath, he turned away and strode out the door and into the night, heading for the rest of his life. Maybe it would include Steve Rogers, and maybe it wouldn’t. But either way, it would be his.

 

Above him, the stars glowed brightly. With promise, and with hope.


End file.
